


End of a war

by Writetomuchsmut



Category: Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Seven Years' War, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writetomuchsmut/pseuds/Writetomuchsmut
Relationships: France/United Kingdom (Anthropomorphic)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Britain smirked down at the greatest gift he was ever going to get, France continued glancing up at Britain as he tried to get off the cold damp ground, exhaustion leaking out of his body. A cool wind blew through the small opening between the two hills, closing the area off from the rest of the world. The taller leaned forward as his staff pushed further into France’s chest.  
“Seeing you like this almost makes this entire war worthwhile… almost. but I need one little thing more~” he glared back up at him.  
“And what is that? You gonna torture me, kill me over and over again, leave me tied to a tree for the wolves?”   
Britain chuckled, “aren't you a creative one but no, I have a different idea.” He tapped the staff once. The black ink-like shadows spreading beneath them, France’s eyes widened as the tendrils raised up, ensnaring his limps tightly. The taller stepped away for a moment as the other twisted and pulled against eel-like appendages.  
Britain lit a cigar, taking a breath he admired his handy-work. France staring daggers of anger and most exciting to Britain, slight fear.   
“Comfortable?” he pursed his lips.  
“Fuck you.”  
“Perfect.”  
France sensed Britain circling like a shark would its prey, each tendril pressed harder as he passed them, most concerningly one around his neck.  
“Will you just get on with it-” he was cut off as his airflow tightened. France sputtered out as he choked up.  
“Careful, don't forget who has the power here~” Britain cooed as the pressure lightened, leaving France gasping.  
His anger was fading as panic took over, France’s situation crashing down on him.  
“W-what are you planning on doing?” he tried to keep some kind of dignity, making sure to keep the pleading out of his voice.  
Something cold press against his back, he didn't have a moment to react before it slithered up, rubbing and wrapping around him. France gasped out, attempting to lean away from the touch. The appendages jumped into action, siding beneath his uniform. He cringed back as smooth caressed his inter-thigh and chest. The felt country felt his skin began to heat up as his breath quickened.  
“My my France, are we enjoying this~?” France hated how amused his enemy sounded, “is there something I can do for you, pillow for your head or an ice pack?”  
“Shut. up.” he hissed back.  
“No.” Britain shuffled towards him, kneeling beside him. France made the mistake of no longing paying attention as tendrils began massaging his slides. A pressure manifested on his crotch.  
“Ahg-!” France yelled out as Britain rubbed two fingers on to him.  
“Like a bitch in heat,” a grin spread across his face.  
“I’m going to kill you,” France didn't know what else he could do but threaten.  
Britain shook his head, “maybe another war but I won, so it’s my turn.”  
“What?! You see this as a game?” France’s breathing was intensifying. Britain took a step back.  
“Maybe so.” he dragged his staff against the ground, France’s mind ran trying to figure what he was doing then he felt something moist and cool brush against his cheek.  
“n'ose-tu pas! n'ose-tu pa-!” He was cut off as his mouth was wrenched open, gagging him. The taste wasn't as bad as he expected, it ran over his tongue multiple times, forcing him to make more saliva.  
The appendage continued circling his entrance, brushing against it lightly. It began slowly penetrating into him. France blinked back the tears starting to line his eyes.  
“You can cry France, you can’t get any more pitiful,” he cupped a hand under the other’s chin. France furrowed his eyebrows, unable to speak. Britain sighed as he flicked his hand, the shadow pulling out of his mouth.  
He choked and spit before hissing out, “...fuck you, you b-bastard sodomite.” The shadow retook its place, curling in his mouth.  
Britain clicked his tongue, “if one of us is a sodomite…” he placed the staff back on the ground, France squealed and arched his back as the tendril thrust into him, “it’s not me.”  
France breath heaved in and out and it pumped inside of him, pushing further each time. He looked down at his body as exhaustion forced him to relax, more parts of him we covered in inky black than were exposed, each of them squirming like eels around his body. His body was hot, he felt himself hardening under his cloth.   
This was disgusting, every sound he made as he was used was disgusting, the spit dribbling down his chin was disgusting, France was disgusting. With one last thrust France climaxed hard, the shadows held him there for a moment before dropping him on the ground.  
France groaned in pain, his body finally cooling down. He tried to position himself on his arms, flinching as the last spikes of pleasure ran through him. France focused on controlling his breathing, hoping it would help him get out of here as soon as possible.  
France noticed Britain standing beside him, he looked up, a tint of pity in his eyes. The taller took a knee, he ran a hand through his hair before bringing it down to his chin, directing him to meet his eyes. Bending down, he pressed their lips together, a quick kiss.   
“Now, let me help you back to the house, we have surrendering terms to work out.”  
“What? Are you not satisfied?” Britain took his arm, helping him up as he placed his hand on his waist for more support.  
“No, I’m not.”


	2. Chapter 2

France closed the door to his bathroom before his legs gave out. What the hell just happened to him? He stripped down his uniforms, his eyes lingering on the stain of white that streaked down the front, he was going to throw it away. He got back up on shaky legs, his light steps sliding across the wooden floors. He grabbed a cloth, dunking it in a bucket of lukewarm water. France started lightly only to began attacking his skin, hoping to rid of any residue.   
A knock came from the door. “Avez-vous presque fini là-dedans?” (Are you almost done in there) Britain’s stern voice was filled with impatience, France didn't know why he continued to bother with their agreement of speaking the other’s language in each other’s home.   
“Je pense que vous voudrez peut-être un peu de patience chienne.” (I think you might want some patience bitch)   
No response came from the door, only the sounds of steps fading away. The nonchalance in Britain’s voice infuriated him, France’s body was just another spoil of war to him, nothing more, nothing intimate, nothing sacred. He was going to regret it, it doesn't matter what it takes, at the first chance he can. France was going to make Britain regret.  
France watched amusingly at the unrequited, unending joy on America’s face.   
“This is it, I-we did it, that prick can’t get at me anymore.” He suddenly threw his arms around the francophone’s shoulders. “Thank you so much, Dad!” France was still getting used to the nickname America had picked up.  
He peeled the younger off of him, “now, I need your help with something.”   
A nervous look cross America’s face, “I thought you said you didn't want any land or anything in return.”   
France chuckled, “non, nothing like that, I simply want some time alone in a room with Britain, a room with a lock on it.”   
He was surprised malicious grin America gave him. “Would you prefer it soundproof as well?”  
“You’re not even going to question what I plan on doing?”   
“Your spoils of war are yours to do with.”  
Britain walked awkwardly down the hallways of the Conference building, he was following directions America had given him in the bathroom. He hadn’t really had to use it, he just needed a break from his son’s ego.  
He counted a couple of doors, finally coming across the room he was looking for. Britain pushed open the door, annoyed by the darkness. He stepped further in, looking for the blinds. The sound of the closing door behind him was echoed out by the sound that followed, the click of a lock.  
“I can’t believe this simple of a plan actually worked. How is your guard this low right after a war?”   
Britain knew how this game was played. “I assumed that my son would content just winning this war.”  
“He was,” France suddenly kicked him to the ground, taking him by surprise. “But you weren’t and I’m not.” The francophone kneed on top of the English man’s chest as he groaned in pain. “And he’s not your son anymore, he’s mine.” Britain’s eyes widened at that. “You get New France or Canada? As you call him and I get Treize Colonies, guess god has a way of keeping things equal.”  
“You have too much a connection to your colonies, willing to bankrupt yourself just to replace one.” France ripped Britain’s staff away from him.  
“And you bankrupted yourself to keep one, what’s your point?” He twirled the staff in his hand. “Tu sais?? I’ve thought about that night more than I really should have, something about it just didn't make sense.”  
“Do you plan to give it back? I didn't think you could, have you developed some new abilities?”   
France hissed under his breath as a pang of envy shot through him, electing to continue with his monologue. “There wasn’t any brutality, there wasn’t any humiliation, not even that many insults.” France shifted around on his chest, getting more comfortable. “I’ve mulled it over, wondering what kind of pain you wanted me to feel, what you were trying to take from me but then it came to me…” His eyes met Britain’s, “Grande-Bretagne, do you find me attractive?”  
A grin spread across France’s face as panic showed itself, Britain began squirming. The francophone outwardly laughed.  
“That’s it isn't it?! You wanted to baise moi because you were attracted to moi! You were serving yourself, I’m surprised you didn't start jerking off halfway through!”  
“Shut up!” Britain was done with this humiliation, France was wrong, he wanted to make France fall at his knees, he wanted to tyrannize him, it had nothing to do with romantic attraction. At least, that’s what Britain told himself.  
“Not even denying it?” Britain grit his teeth. “I know my beauty is bedazzling, seducing man and woman alike but I never expected you to fall for it.”  
“I didn't!” He snapped.   
“Finally found your voice? I bet you wanted me to give it back.” France brought a knee to Britain’s crotch, grinning roughly. “Tell me~ would you enjoy this?”   
Britain hissed out, trying to keep his moans down. “No, I wouldn’t! you bloody asshat!”   
He took his chin in his hands, “how does it feel to be homophile? Do you enjoy it or do you feel ashamed? Of all the people to act out your thoughts on, I don't think I was the best choice or did I awaken that in you? I’m invested now, I thought I knew your life story but this is so new.”   
“Are you done?” Britain growled out, avoided looking at him as much as he could. France was almost continued when he felt something solid under his kneecap. He snorted, pushing himself up.  
“I’ll just let you deal with that. I’m glad to finally bring this to close.” France appreciated the Britain he saw in front of him, his eyes glued to the ground, his cheeks flushed. He decided to add one more thing.  
“And take as much time you need, I’ll tell Treize what you’re dealing with.” He flinched, perfect. France closed the door, feeling quite accomplished.


End file.
